The Sounds of Violence
by Orcus - Prince of Undeath
Summary: Six months since Batman initiated the Knightfall Protocol, and left Gotham in the hands of Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood, crime has been, mostly, stable. But someone new comes to town. Someone who kills other, non-powered heroes for pure sport. Someone that leaves our heroes requiring the aid of a few newcomers, and anyone else they can find. Onomatopoeia has come to Gotham.
1. Chapter 1: A Hero Dies

Chapter 1: A Hero Dies

 **Date: April 22**

 **Location: Harrisburg, Ohio**

 **Time: 5:49 A.M.**

" _...Breaking news this early April morning. I've just received word that the local vigilante of Harrisburg has broken up the hostage situation that began at St. Walker's hospital, only two hours ago_ " the male newscaster spoke on the active television, lighting up the dark, empty living room, inside the suburban home, interrupting the current broadcast.

As the reporter continued on, the door to the front of the home burst open, and a humanoid, muscular shape ran in. The figure that entered was male in appearance, and was wearing a flashy red-and-white outfit, that reeked of something to do with heroism. The upper part of his face was concealed by a red cloth mask with a pair of eyeholes cut into it, but the large smile on the lower part of it was not kept under disguise, and was instead worn on the man's jaw proudly.

" _The man, a one Mason Dearing, murdered several hospital staff in an out-of-nowhere shooting spree, before taking nearly fifty more, both other staff and patients, hostage_ " the radio continued on, as the man closed the door behind himself, and took his mask off, revealing his full face, and reddish-orange hair. " _Soon after, he was apprehended by the city's up-and-coming hero, Buckeye, to whom the hostages say "owe their lives" to. This marks his eighth documented rescue since beginning his career two months ago._ "

"Honey!" the man known as Buckeye shouted, in a happy tone, as he held his mask in one of his white-gloved hands. "I'm back! And I've got one Hell of a tale to tell you!"

No response. Smirking all the while, he looked at the on t.v., which was broadcasting the events of the rescue he performed, and tossed the nightstick he wore, the one he used to dish out justice, onto the couch nearby, thinking as to where his wife was.

"She left the tele on... Where's she now?" he whispered to himself, stroking his stubble-laced chin. Shrugging, he began to set off deeper into the house, heading toward the bathroom.

Buckeye let out a tired, well-earned yawn as he began to trudge through the hall of his home, cupping his mouth as he did so. At this point, he heard the unmistakable sound of water dribbling up ahead.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The noise continued on, and was clearly louder than the sound of the nearby television, like a tap, or a shower faucet not fully shut off.

 _Oh, she's taking a shower_ he though, with a small laugh, as he made the final turn toward the restroom.

What he saw next ripped every other thought out of his mind, except what was now in front of him.

A crimson puddle lied just outside the door, staining the carpet ground. Buckeye let out a gasp of terror, at the realization that it was blood, and ran up to the open doorway, tripping in surprise on his way to it.

"Meg?!" he asked, saying his wife's name in more of a frantic scream than a voice, as he entered the bathroom. There was more blood on the white, tiled floor, like an uninviting red carpet of liquid, and he finally saw what he absolutely feared, as he looked up.

Meg was there, but she was hanging from her tied-up wrists by the shower curtain, like some gutted, trussed-up animal. The loose, blue jersey she wore as a nightshirt, with the large zero on the back of it, showed in the bathroom's yellow light. Buckeye, trembling like a tree in a storm, let out several sobs of horror, stunned by the sight.

She was dead. The blood that dripped from her throat, and into the water-filled tub said as much. There was also something else in the room. Something Buckeye forcibly dragged his cringing, watery eyes to.

An unfamiliar, dark figure sat on the closed toilet seat, right next to where the corpse of his wife hung. It was male in shape, and dressed completely in black-colored clothing, which laid beneath an equally dark-colored trench coat, not exposing any flesh whatsoever. He wore a full, black hood over his head and face, and on the front of it, where his face would be, were two, white rings, reminiscent of the shape of a bullseye. In his hand was a military-styled knife, stained red, which he was busy wiping clean with a small blue hand-rag, all while he, apparently, looked in Buckeye's direction.

And the killer was speaking. The entire time he had been speaking. In a crisp, clear, emotionless voice, the masked murderer had been _imitating the sound of the blood that fell from Meg's slit-open throat, and into the water of the tub._

"Drip... Drip... Drip..."

"You...?! Wha-...?! M-M-Meg...?!" the vigilante stuttered once more, tears streaming like rivers down his now pale face, as he watched the man sitting down calmly continue to clean his knife. He then looked back to where his wife hung, still dead, and he himself still in shock and terror-filled disbelief, as the man continued his verbal forgery of the liquid sound in the background.

"Drip... Drip... Drip..."

"... _In a morning briefing, the district attorney's office have told reporters that Mason Dearing will be charged for nine counts of terrorism and homicide..._ " the television went on, in the living room, while Buckeye looked back to the monster sitting in front of him, his face curling and twisting into a snarl.

"I'LL KILL YOU! Y-YOU BASTARD!" Buckeye roared in pure rage, and he dashed forwards, arms outstretched, intent on pummeling the murderer to death, to choke the life out of him, to smash his face into bloody pulp, to do anything to avenge his wife's death. The killer simply put his free hand into the inside of his trench coat in reaction, and pulled out a gun from one of its pockets. A dark-colored semiautomatic pistol.

"Fwwwt. Puht" he calmly said, mimicking the weapon's sound, as he raised its barrel forward, from his coat, with a swift and fast, but relaxed motion, at the oncoming threat's orange-haired head, in an almost casual manner. He seemed to wait a second more before firing, as if savoring the moment.

"Blam" the masked killer finally spoke, one last time, as he finished pulling the trigger on the weapon, only mere milliseconds before the distraught hero could reach him.

" _...We'll be back at ten o'clock with more on the story_ " the radio droned on in the background, the people behind it, like everyone else in the world, oblivious to the crime that had just been committed. Unknowing to the righteous blood that had been spilled. Never the wiser to the tragic event that had unfolded. " _Now, back to live with Regis and Kelly._ "

* * *

 **Date: May 7**

 **Location: Gotham City**

 **Time: 11:01 PM**

The dark figure of Nightwing stood on top of one of the many buildings in Gotham. He was looking over the edge, as he had been doing for the past five minutes, and sighed, as he twiddled one of his batons in one hand. As he was about to throw the metal rod into the air, he suddenly stopped when he heard the sound of a grappling hook go off, and turned, just in time, to see the red shape of Robin, or, as he personally knew, Tim Drake, land on the other side of the rooftop.

"Did Red Hood show up yet, Dick? Did I miss him?" the red-armored vigilante asked, as he walked toward Nightwing, questioning him about why they were both called to their current location.

"Not yet" his ally replied, in an impatient voice. "He's late... As usual."

"Am I the only one to notice he seems to like appearing out of nowhere whenever we have these meetings?" Drake inquired again, in an amused voice. "It's like he's trying t-

"...Be like the old man?" another voice suddenly went out, interrupting him. Nightwing and Robin turned at the same time to see a new figure, dressed in an armored, black-and-white leather jacket and pants, with a red, bird-shaped symbol painted onto its white chest and back, and the unmistakable red hood he wore over his equally red, faceless helmet. Attached to his hips were a pair of holsters, each one with the vigilante's signature pistols in them.

"I'm trying to be anything but. Sorry to break it to you."

"Why'd you call us here, Jason?" Robin asked, impatiently.

"That's "Red Hood," to you... _Kid_ " he mocked. "And for good reason."

"And that reason would be... What, exactly?" Nightwing asked.

"Hmph. No doubt you two saw that new guy that came to town, early this morning" Jason huffed, taking a photo out from one of his jacket's pockets, and showing it to the two. On the colored picture, taken from a security camera, was a slightly blurred figure, in mid jump, wearing a large, white, body-covering cape, and an almost impractically large, presumably wooden mask of a straight-horned goat, or some other creature of that like, over his head. In one hand was an old-fashioned-looking crossbow.

"I haven't" Grayson replied. The look on Tim's masked face told just as much.

"Well, I already looked into him... Just for you two" Jason spoke again, lifting his red mask off briefly to spit off of the roof, before lowering it again, and continuing on. "The guy calls himself "Baphomet." Came out like most other vigilantes, only a month after Bruce was revealed, but in Star City, all the way in California, and quickly became popular there. I don't know jack about his real identity, though, or why he's here."

"Sounds more like a villain's name, than a hero's" Tim chuckled, folding his arms. "Got the looks to match, too. Why's he of such an interest to you, that you called us both up for this little group therapy session? You haven't done this kind of thing since Riddler thumped you on that quiz he gave you a few weeks back."

"I want him out of the city" Red Hood replied, turning his back to Nightwing and Robin. "I stayed to make sure crime has a face to be afraid of. With the flood of new vigilantes that have been appearing, counting ones with stupid getups included... _E_ _specially_ ones with stupid getups... The moment one gets taken down in all his five seconds of glory... Crime's going to have a reason to be unafraid again."

He looked back at the two, who were now giving him an odd look.

"And speaking of crime..." he tried to start again

"We know what you did to Black Mask" Grayson suddenly interrupted. "And we know that he just came out of the hospital. After you threw him from that window a month ago, I thought you'd be done with him. Don't tell me you plan on finishing the job..."

"Sionis has it coming, Nightwing" Jason spoke. "You're both free to stop me, but I'm using lethal force against any that try to save his worthless hide. That includes using it against you two."

"We're not going to stop you" Tim said. "We're just... Hoping you'll reconsider what you have planned. What would Bruce think-"

"I'm not Batman!" Red Hood snapped, before brandishing one of his large pistols, letting the other two look at its silver sheen reflect the moonlight. " _This_... This is what he should have been doing when he first started!" he said again, shaking the weapon around. "This is what he should have been doing the entire time! Instead, he lets his prey live another day. To have another "chance at life." What he never bothered to realize is that the scum lurking on these streets will never learn..."

He holstered the weapon, and looked back at the two other vigilantes, his face behind his mask calming down, as he exhaled.

"...And that's also why I work alone. Nobody to hold me back. Nobody to get in my way."

"Sometimes, its those who get in your way and hold you back that make the better decisions" Nightwing scoffed, getting smirk out of Robin.

"Just get rid of Baphomet before I put a bullet in his head..." he groaned. He turned and walked to the building's edge, ready to jump off it, before he suddenly stopped, and turned back to Robin.

"Oh, and Tim..." Jason started again.

"Yeah?" the boy wonder asked in reply.

"Could you... Maybe say hi to Barbara for me?" he asked. "I haven't had the chance to say it myself to her in a while. Gangs don't sleep, and neither do I."

"Umm... Sure" he replied, in a slightly uneasy manner.

"Thanks" the Red Hood spoke a last time, in a sincere voice, before jumping from the building, activating his grappling hook, and swinging out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2: Meeting a Man of Many Words

Chapter 2: Meeting A Man of Many Words

With a final pull and twist, Red Hood snapped the guard's neck, and let the limp body fall to the ground of the hotel's upper floor.

"Gonna feel _that_ in the morning..." he quipped, before walking past the body, and to the door his target was behind. As he made his way to it, he couldn't help but feel confused as to why there were so little guards in the perimeter, each one he took out silently, and efficiently, but swiftly changed his thoughts to what was about to happen next. He opened the door to Roman's room, and closed it behind him, getting a good look at the man ahead of him.

Moonlight flooded into the room from the large, open, nearby window, revealing Sionis, who was dressed in a white suit, and wore his signature black mask over his face. Both legs, and one arm were in a full cast, and he was sitting in a wheelchair, watching television, rubbing his only usable, gloved hand on the armrest.

"Hey, I thought I told you bozos to leave me be!" Roman yelled grumpily, turning from the television to the door, before promptly shutting up, once he saw the red-hooded vigilante walking up to him, menacingly.

"No... No, you couldn't have found me this quickly! That's not possible!" he cried out in surprised fear, moving backwards as fast as he could, before hitting the wall, cornered. "How...?

"Whatever kind of sponge baths you took at the hospital didn't wipe away your stench, Roman" he chuckled. "I mean, come on... I could smell you from the riverfront for god's sake..."

As he walked closer, weapon in one hand, Red Hood stretched his free one out, and grabbed Black Mask by his collar, hoisting the panicking man from his wheelchair, and into the air.

"End of the line, Roman" he said again, pointing the tip of the gun to his chin. "It's been a pleasure. No, really."

As he was about to pull the trigger, and end his life once and for all, Jason couldn't help but notice something as he looked into Black Mask's fear-filled eyes.

The man's eyes were blue. Jason distinctly remembered the crimelord's were brown.

He soon came to the realization that it wasn't Black Mask.

Placing his hand on the skull-shaped mask's socket, he savagely tore the wooden replica off, revealing a man with grey hair, and saggy facial skin underneath. It was a body double.

"Oh, ho ho... Sionis thought he'd try the "fakeout" maneuver on me, did he?" he asked, his voice brimming with held-back rage. "Well, I must admit, he tricked me, this time. Points to him for rate of success, I guess."

"Please... Please, no..." not-Black Mask was whimpering. "You already threw me out a window... Please... I'll do anything!"

"Alright then... Where's Black Mask? The _real_ one?" Red Hood demanded to know, regaining his voice's previous composure as he lowered the man slightly, and stuck his pistol against the temple of his head.

"No, never... Can never t-tell that...!" he responded. "C-can never tell..."

With a sigh, Jason took the pistol off of his head, and pointed it at the body double's bandaged knee, discharging a round into it before the man could react. He let out a cry of pain that lasted nearly a minute.

"Where's Black Mask?" he asked again, impatience building up in his voice. The man only continued to sob. Without even thinking, he sent another bullet into the man's other knee. Another cry went out, but this time, Jason didn't give him the pleasure of getting a chance to get used to the injury.

"Where... Is... Black... Mask?" he asked a final time, in a roar. "Do you _want_ me to break every bone and joint in your frail little body, to get that little bit of information out? Do I have to go that far? Do I?"

"Eh... Aghaha..." he blubbered.

" _Do I_?" the vigilante asked once more, violently jabbing his pistol's barrel into his shoulder.

"A-alright! Alright! I'll tell!" the man shrieked, finally relenting as he raised his only good arm. "He's... I think he's at the... The..."

His assailant growled at his slowness to respond.

"W-W-Wilhelm's Docks! Wilhelm's Docks!" he finally choked out. "He, or... O-or maybe someone else, went there t-to talk with representatives from some other group about a threat we got from them! That's all I know, and that's the closest you'll get! I swear! I swear!"

"Thank you..." Red Hood spoke in a strangely lighthearted voice. Immediately sensing the offness of his response, the man cried out in fear, flinching away, preparing for his imminent demise.

Instead of a bullet to the head, the man found himself being thrown back into his wheelchair, which rolled to the back of the room, and bounced off of the white wall behind it, near the window.

"Wha-? Wha-?" he stuttered, reopening his eyes. He was even more surprised to see Red Hood turn, and begin to walk away, leaving him alive. "You... You d-didn't sh-shoot me?!"

"You've been through a lot this past month. Think of it as me being... "Charitable," tonight..." the vigilante hummed, as he continued to walk off, passing into the doorway. "Also, it's not really worth killing a cripple, now is it?"

Instead of shouting in anger the response, the pain the false-Black Mask felt in his legs made him groan, and he bent over at the bloody holes where his knees were, which had already begun to feel slightly numb. He looked back up as he heard the door close, the man who was about to kill him leaving him alone in the empty room.

It was at this point, trying his best to ignore the pain, he pushed the wheels of the wheelchair he was in over to the nearest phone, intent on calling an ambulance.

* * *

It was a mere half-hour later when Jason bust open the old door of the creaky, shack-like building with a strong kick. He had already scanned the downstairs area with his detective vision, but all he saw, to his extreme confusion, were dozens of bodies, devoid of life. He strolled into the musty, dark building, and inspected the nearest corpse, which belonged to one of Black Mask's henchmen, as indicated by the bloodstained apparel worn.

 _Must've been dead for a while... At least four hours, maybe more..._ he thought, noticing how dry the blood was, and how rigor mortis had already set in, but not long enough for several other post-mortem changes to take place. He estimated the time, coupled with the warm temperature Gotham had experienced which would have caused it. _I wonder what happened here..._

He inspected the wound the killed the man, a cut-open neck, and easily identified the weapon used.

"An axe" he spoke, piecing together the most likely conclusion, as he noticed the same wounds the other bodies bore. "Either Roman went nuts and killed all his men, or some turned on him, and he defended himself. Maybe that "other group" came here and did it. Hmm..."

He left the corpse behind him, and inspected the other bodies, seeing each one wearing their horrendous wounds.

"Oh, Black Mask..." he whispered, leaving the corpses behind as he got back to walking around the complex. "Where are you...?"

He soon found a rickety set of stairs, and climbed them, coming across an ancient-looking, partially rotted, and mold-covered door. Rust coated the exposed hinges and knob. He could feel the coarseness of it as he placed his gloved hand around it, and twisted it.

As he opened the door, only slightly enough to poke his head through, he peered into the room, and instantly saw several bodies, none of which belonged to his target, in bloody and dismembered positions like the others he had encountered so far. What he found quite off, though, was the fact that three of the bodies he saw were wearing strange masks. Not the black-colored, cheap, buy-at-the-Halloween-store-for-five-dollars crap he was used to seeing, but sleek, white, blank-looking, ovular-shaped masks with two unrevealing eyeholes in each, and a beak-like protrusion below them.

To be honest, they looked like masks posing after a barn owl's face.

"Must be the "other group"" he spoke, quoting what Black Mask's impostor had said about the reasons why the gang was there in the first place. He opened the door fully, and as he walked into the room, a loud, terrible creaking noise echoed from the door. He was only able to take one more step, before he heard something behind him, that sent an instinctive chill of fear and surprise down his spine.

"Cre-e-e-eak..." the clearly human voice spoke.

With a dodge, Jason ducked to his left, as something heavy-sounding behind him swished through the air, past his head, nearly hitting it. He jumped back the next moment he was able to, tearing his pistols out of their holsters underneath his jacket, and got a clear look at his assailant, pointing his weapons at him in retaliation.

Standing before him, a bloody woodcutter's axe in his hands, was what appeared to be a male shape, clad completely in black. He wore an equally-black trench coat around his body, and his face and neck were clothed in a full, black hood, with two white rings on its front, where his face undoubtedly looked through. He wore thick-looking boots (also black) on his feet, and black gloves gripped the weapon in his hands tightly.

They both stood there, staring at each other form behind their disguised faces, until Red Hood, now slightly more relaxed, moved his legs to a more comfortable position, still formulating a plan for his next course of action in his head.

"Scff" the man spoke, imitating the vigilante's boot's scuffling noise. Perplexed, and seeing himself with the upper hand in the situation, Jason lowered his guard.

"I take it you're the one I have to thank for this?" he finally spoke, motioning to the carnage around him, as he lowered his pistols, slowly, until they were by his side.

The man said nothing in response. He only tilted his head a few degrees to the side, as if studying the vigilante.

"Not the talkative kind, eh?" Jason said again. "Alright then. Nod if you're listening: Are you a, quote-unquote, "good guy?"" he asked once more, in a slightly mocking manner.

His body rose to alarm when the newcomer shook his head back-and-forth three times, telling him otherwise. Before he could bring his pistols up again, Red Hood's newest foe raised his axe over his head, and with a "fwoowoowoo" noise to mimic the weapon in its flight, flung the object at him, its spinning, blood-coated blade glistening in the moonlight from the hole-filled roof above.

Jason was easily able to dodge the clunky weapon, and cracked two shots at his target, as the axe hit, and became impaled in the wooden wall behind himself. The stranger only ducked, and jumped backwards, running out of the room through the door Jason entered in, before he could get another bullet in his direction. Pocketing his pistols and giving chase, he followed him outside the door.

Seeing the mysterious man had already ran down the stairs, and was a fair distance away, Jason shot his grappling hook into the old building's rafters, and swung toward him. He flew through the air, gaining momentum, and was soon upon him. The man managed to turn as he ran, and shoved his hand into his jacket. He pulled out a pistol, and aimed it upward with great speed, and spoke, just before pulling down on the trigger.

"Blam!"

With uncanny accuracy, the bullet that fired from the gun hit the grapple's line, severing it, and sending Red Hood falling to the ground. With a grunt, he landed in a roll, and continued his chase, unimpeded.

Bursting through the door, and running outside of the dockhouse, and onto Gotham's streets, Red Hood finally caught up his foe, and when he was within arm's distance, the man turned, and they briefly engaged each other, whilst running.

They traded several fast, and powerful blows, the ring-faced stranger also managing to fire his pistol three separate times, accompanying the shots with their appropriate sounds, only to have it knocked away each time by Red Hood's hands. Even though Red Hood's attacks were viscous and quick, the man managed to defend himself with martial arts just as good as his enemy's, parrying or redirecting each chop, punch, and kick with his arms.

Red Hood then let loose a flying cobra punch, and hit the stranger in the chest. The man managed to grab the arm as it hit, keeping him upwards as the tremendous blow struck, and raised his leg, using the momentum to kick Jason across the chin of his mask, simultaneously letting go of his appendage, causing the vigilante to fall back slightly, giving him time to run off once more.

As he recovered from the attack, Jason heard a metal object being moved up ahead, and twisted his hooded head up in time to see the man's silhouette throwing a manhole cover away from its resting place on the road, and jumping into the sewer below.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" he yelled, remembering how rancid the sewers of Gotham smelt from past exploits. Although sensing it was against his better judgement, Red Hood was adamant to not let the killer escape, and jumped down the manhole in pursuit, grabbing ahold of the ladder, and sliding down. He landed with a splash in the waist-deep, brown sewer water, and looked around. Orange light showed from a caged bulb near the top of the sewer, and revealed the seemingly empty, water-filled tunnel.

Jason scanned the area again, but saw nothing but still water. He waded further into the abode, when he suddenly heard the water rippling behind him, followed by a voice.

"Fwosh!"

He was unable to turn in time, and was caught in a single-armed chokehold by the masked person, who had suddenly sprung up from the water behind him. Red Hood reacted accordingly, and attempted to elbow him, repeatedly, in the side, and when that didn't seem to work, tried to reverse-headbutt him. The man only lowered his neck to his side, and avoided the attack, using his free hand to pull his pistol back up.

"Blam" he spoke. A shot rang out, and a bullet pierced through Jason's upper left loin, exiting from the front of his body.

"Gah!" he gasped out, in pain, still struggling intensely. Another "Blam" was spoken, another shot rang out, another bullet cut through his body, and Jason coughed blood up from behind his mask. He elbowed the masked killer one last time, all his energy put into the attack, before another slug could be put into his body, finally throwing him off of himself, and turned, ripping his own pistols out of their sheaths, ready to kill the man.

With seemingly unnatural speed, his attacker, dropping his own gun into the sewer water, stretched his gloved hands forward, and grabbed Red Hood's pistols by their barrels, pushing them away as they fired. One bullet managed to rip through his thigh, sending blood into the water, but the man, as if not even noticing the wound, continued his attack unhindered.

"Punt" he spoke, in an almost bland voice, as he lifted a boot up, and savagely kicked Jason back, tearing both pistols out of the vigilante's hands. Jason fell, with a splash, into the dank water, and got back up, only to see the barrel of one of his own guns pointed at his face.

"Who... What... Are you?" he asked, panting heavily. The man only stared at him for several seconds, silent as death. Then, in a voice as lifeless as humanly possible, he answered.

"Onomatopoeia."

"Well... Gotta at least give you credit for creativeness..." Red Hood chuckled, still in his cocky tone, as he got ready to attack again, despite his position. Onomatopoeia let out a "click" noise, as he pulled down the hammer of the gun, and prepared to fire it, in a manner akin to an executioner. Red Hood could see that things were bleak, but he then noticed something out of the corner of his eye, just before another noise caught his ear.

"RRAAAGGHHH!" a bestial bellow suddenly went out, echoing throughout the sewer, causing both the fighters to pause, and look to the side. An enormous, green-scaled behemoth of a human-shaped figure burst forth from the water, long, sharp claws at the end of his outstretched hands, jagged, razor-like teeth in his opened mouth, and water dripping from his ragged pants. While the stranger wasn't the wiser as to who this newcomer was, Red Hood was familiar with him, having fought him on several occasions, back in the days when he played the part of Robin.

It was none other than Waylon Jones, better known in Gotham as the cannibalistic serial killer and hired thug Killer Croc. Jason soon came to the grim realization that the two had intruded on his lair.

"Rraaagghhh?" Onomatopoeia spoke, imitating Croc's animalistic roar, but in a questioning way. He was only able to swing his pistol in Croc's direction, before Jason, a rather fiendish idea already in his head, shot up from the water, kicked the man in the shin, elbowed him in the neck, and, using the last of his strength, threw him at the oncoming brute before he could defend himself. In response, Croc threw out a massive paw toward Onomatopoeia, grabbing him, and wrapped his long, muscular fingers around his waist, before violently hoisting him from the water, and into the air with his superhuman strength.

"Go easy on him Croc! This is his first night in Gotham!" Jason shouted, smirking behind his mask. The reptilian man didn't appear to listen, being much too busy with his attention on his prey.

"Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!" the man yelled in succession to every shot he fired, making the respective noises the bullets made, which only bounced, harmlessly, off of Killer Croc's thick, scaly head. Letting out an annoyed, if not clearly pissed-off hiss, Croc gnashed his fangs together, and put his other hand around his newest victim, holding him tightly in place.

While all this was going on, Jason, knowing how outmatched was to either of them with how ill-equipped he was, coupled with his heavily-bleeding wounds, took advantage of the situation, and waded through the thick, greasy water, toward the ladder of the manhole, cradling where the two bullets had exited from his side, blood pouring out of the two holes, and onto his leather jacket.

Before he ascended the construct, and escaped the battle before him, he turned, one last time, to see Croc dragging the man into the uninviting water with him, the latter of which was still spouting his environment's sound effects in a disturbingly calm way, and tossing away the empty gun, pulling out an army knife instead.

"Fwoashhh-!" he tried to say, one last time, before he vanished underneath the brown waves with the monstrosity he was tangling with, his knife still at the ready in his hand as they both disappeared. The water soon became still, and Red Hood knew it was time to go, the thought of Croc deciding he wanted to come back for seconds entering his mind, giving him a slight chill. He scaled the ladder with his only usable hand, groaning at how incredibly sore he felt, as he struggled to lift his armored mass up it, narrowly reaching the top bars after a minute's worth of climbing later.

Tired beyond all belief, and the blood loss finally getting to him, he was near unconsciousness, and his head hurt like all Hell. Just when it mattered most, he felt his body beginning to give way, too much stress for it to handle, as it succumbed to the blood loss. His eyes closed, preparing for the coming fall.

Then, just before he fell, he felt something grab ahold of his arm. He opened his eyes once more in surprise, and saw, from behind his mask, and in a fuzzy haze, two, dark-colored arms grasping his own. He then felt himself being lifted out of the manhole, another pair joining the other by grabbing his other arm, also helping him out, until he was fully free.

 _Nightwing? Robin?_ he wondered, weakly, just before he found himself being unceremoniously dropped to the pavement ground with a painful thud and splat, courtesy of the water staining his jacket and clothes.

 _Nope... Not them..._ He thought once more, noting the carelessness he received, and thinking of how they would have acted. He turned, limply, from his side, and fell on his back, looking at the figures in the lamplight above him.

Two, dark, unfamiliar shapes stared down at him, one masculine, and one feminine, but that was all he could see without the haziness of his view getting in the way.

 _Definitely... Definitely not them..._

"Red Hood" one of the ominous figures spoke, interrupting his thoughts in a cold, emotionless male voice, mere moments before he could black out. "The Court of Owls has demanded that you live."


	3. Chapter 3: New Faces in Gotham

Chapter 3: New Faces in Gotham

Crunching his hand into a ball, Jason awoke, from a face-down position, on the wooden floor, to the sound of silence radiating around him, in a dark environment. Rays of sunlight showed through the cracks of the wooden walls, revealing not very much as he sat up, taking a deep breath, realizing his mask was off of his scarred face, and his hood was down, revealing his short, black hair. He smelled the foul stench of the sewer water that still stuck to his clothes, and immediately thought back to the night before, and the stranger he fought, along with the wounds he received.

He looked down, and felt the area where the two bullets had exited from, but felt only dried blood, and something different underneath. Lifting his shirt up, he saw it was all covered up, both front and back, from a series of bandages that went around his waist, and was very sore, but nowhere near the stinging sensation he had previously experienced. Finishing his checking, and wondering as to whom saved him from bleeding out, he looked down, his eyes still adjusted to the dark, and spied his red mask laying just a foot from him.

 _Whoever did this left all my stuff here..._ he thought, curiously, as he picked it up, and put it over his head, propping the hood on top of it afterword. Just before he could stand up, he heard the sound of something rapping against the wall, a hollow echo going into the dusty air of the room.

Looking rapidly to his right, his eyes spotted a human, female figure in the darkness. The vision his helmet provided had highlighted the shape, down to the last, vivid detail.

The clothing she was clad in was made of a black, skintight fabric, and over her face and head was an all-concealing hood with a slightly pointed end, apparently modeled after that of an executioner's, possessing a pair of ornate, gold-rimmed, reflective goggles for the eyes to see through on its front. Long eyebrow-like protrusions of the same color stuck out above them, and a short beak-like object was in between the eyepieces, connecting them, and giving the hood's face a very owl-like appearance, set in a permanent grimace. She also had a rather elaborate, owl-themed breastplate on her chest, complimenting her attractive, slim shape, and visible around her waist was a belt, with nearly a dozen throwing knives, a few daggers, several pouches, and a single short sword sheathed by its side to be seen. Sticking up from behind her back, as far as Jason was able to see, was the handle to what he presumed was another, albeit longer sword. On her gloves, at the end of their fingers, were claw-like metal tips, most likely also weapons in their own right.

"Are you... one of the two that found me last night?" he asked, as he stood up, brushing dust off of his jacket and pants.

The figure nodded slowly, twice, not giving away an inch of emotion. She turned her head to the crack in the wall, looking out it a last time, before facing behind herself, and walking, silently, to a doorway previously hidden by the darkness the room cast, showing off her back, and the sword inside of its decorated, ceremonial sheath that laid on it. She looked back at Jason, and beckoned him to follow, raising a gloved hand, and curling it inward in a rather quick, if not somewhat impatient manner, before disappearing around the corner.

As he walked toward her, he couldn't help but think of how ironic it was that after passing out from blood loss from last night's fight, he had gotten a better night's sleep than he ever experienced in the past three years, as judged by how his joints, the ones that weren't sore, felt. He rounded the corner, and spotted the person again, standing at the beginning of a hallway, a few meters away. She merely looked at him in her eerie, quiet manner, before setting off, gliding down the hall like a phantom. Red Hood had to jog forward to rejoin her.

The hallway they now entered was illuminated by a series of incandescent light bulbs, attached to small chains on the rotted ceiling. Their light revealed its walls were lined with peeling, striped, red-and-white paint, and also showed just how narrow it was, forcing Jason to trail behind his guide, once he had caught up.

"Can you speak?" he decided to ask, out of pure curiosity as they walked, noting her persistent silence. She suddenly stopped, turned, and stared at him from behind her mask, before shaking her head, and pointing to her concealed throat with a claw-tipped finger. The answer was all-too-clear that she was mute.

"Sorry if I offended you by asking," he apologized, noting his intrusion. She responded by raising her hand, in a gesture of easy forgiveness, before they resumed their walk, reaching an old, metal door after a few more moments. She stopped in front of it, and simply stood, vigilantly, after raising a hand, gesturing him to enter. Instead of entering right off, however, Jason cupped his hand around his ear, and propped it against the door, listening to the voices inside.

"...And the radio also said something about a guy called Clayface," a male voice spoke, from the other side. "He was seen escaping his cell a few days ago, and just recently by some scared civilians in Chinatown. Heard he's quite a handful."

"But still no Onomatopoeia..." a female voice replied. "Are you sure he's in this city, Baphomet?"

"I've tracked him this far..." the other voice responded. "And I'll bet my life that Red Hood had a little run-in with him last night."

"He is the gentleman in the other room, yes?" another, higher-pitched male voice asked. "The one those two owl-people saved and mended up?"

"Yep," the other voice answered. "I recognize him from security cam photos, and eyewitness reports from news articles. He has to be skilled to take down half of the organized crime gang leaders of the city, so it would take someone of Onomatopoeia's caliber to beat him up that bad. The fact he didn't die tells me he actually managed to kill the bastard, but we won't know until he wakes up."

It was at this point, Jason pulled on the doorknob, and entered the room. Before him stood three people, standing in front of a table, each one turning their heads over their shoulders to see who was intruding. The first one, standing behind the table, was the one he recognized first. He knew it was the Baphomet character, as seen by the cloak he wore, and the large, wooden goat mask he had over his face. It was definitely him.

Crouched on the floor next to him, the second most noticeable person in the room, was a humanoid figure that was clearly _not_ human. The creature, insect-like in appearance, had a green, exoskeletal body, skinny but powerful legs, and a face that had two, large, red, compound eyes. Also on its face was a proboscis, and on either side of it were two, small but sharp mandibles. It had large forearms, that poked out from immense, chitin-armored shoulders, ending in four-clawed fingers, had a two pairs of small, transparent wings sticking out of its back, and had a small abdomen that stuck out from just behind where its legs connected.

The last one he noticed was a woman, wearing a black cloth mask that covered all but her nose, mouth, and long, white hair, the last of which hung just over her shoulders. She had a muscular body, and the blue-and-black costume she had was heavily armored in the front and leg areas, and highlighted in gray. The weapon she wielded was a bo staff, and was held, idly, in one of hers hands.

"Speak of the devil," Baphomet finally spoke, after a brief moment of silence. "I see you're up, Mr. Red Hood."

"I am," Jason replied, as he walked into the room, the owl-costumed following close by, silent as death. "Who are you all?"

"The basics, eh? Alright then... I'm Baphomet," the wooden mask-wearing vigilante started, introducing himself. "...From Star City."

"Virago," the female vigilante said. "From Philadelphia."

"And I am the Canterbury Cricket," the insectoid, who was nearest to him, spoke in an eccentric English accent, introducing himself last, as he stretched a four-fingered, chitinous claw out, as if asking for a handshake. "...From the esteemed city of Canterbury, England. I came here to visit an old friend, but found out about this little plot, and joined in. Pleased to meet you, most honored ally."

The Cricket slowly pulled his hand back when Red Hood didn't react to his welcoming gesture. Brushing past him, he walked into the middle of the room, until he was in front of Virago and Baphomet.

"Why are you all here?" he snapped, demanding answers. Virago was the first to talk.

"We're... Hunting down a serial killer," she spoke, walking up to him. "He's called himself "Onomatopoeia." At random points in the last three years, he's been actively murdering non-powered vigilantes, all across the country. As of late, with the recent spring of vigilantism following the death of Batman, he's been... busy."

"Onomatopoeia..." Red Hood said again, thinking back to what the stranger from the night before had introduced himself as. "He's been taken care of."

After a small moment of silence, Baphomet laughed, enthusiastically, and clapped his gloved hands together, before speaking.

"Haha! I told you guy he got him! How'd you do it?"

"He became food for Killer Croc, down in the sewer where we brawled" he replied. "Last I saw, he got pulled under the water by him, and didn't come back up."

"Oh dear..." Canterbury Cricket responded, uneasily, when he finished. "Though I've never met this "Killer Croc" of which you speak, I just recently accrued some information from the radio saying that a creature known by the same name was found by a few sewer workers only an hour ago. He was unconscious, bleeding heavily from multiple cuts and blunt force to the face, and missing an eye, apparently gouged out by a sharp object. They said they would have more on the story forty-five minutes from now, and there did not appear to be any Onomatopoeia with him."

"Well... that brings us back down to... zero," Virago sighed, in a disappointed tone. "Baphomet, do you think he's going to flee?"

"He's not one to give up so easily... he doesn't let his prey go like that..." the masked man responded, grimly, before turning to Jason. "Red Hood, until we properly locate him... we shall help you with cleaning up the scum in this town in return."

"No, I want you all out of Gotham," he replied instead, in a hostile tone. "My city, my problems. If I see "Onomatopoeia" or whatever the Hell he calls himself again, I'll mail you his body when I'm done with him."

After he said that, each of them, minus the owl-costumed one, who still stood like a statue behind him, looked at each other. They were silent until Canterbury Cricket lifted a finger, and spoke up.

"We appreciate the offer, but we really must insist on-"

The creature was hushed as Jason walked up to him. Tranquil as he was, he was still intimidating nonetheless, and was even more still when he bent his head forward, to him.

"Listen. I kill criminals. Not only them, but anyone who stands in my way. Right now, you're all doing the latter," he hissed. Cricket wasn't fazed by the threat, but before he could speak again, Baphomet did it for him.

"I've heard about Gotham's crime predicament for some time now. And by some time, I mean nearly three decades," he started. "You run this town with two other vigilantes as well, and even then it persists like a cancer. I hardly see how a handful more of us will dampen the situation."

"You all don't even look well-equipped, or well-trained," Red Hood said, as he looked back at him. "What skills do you all even have?"

"Please... I've worked with Green Arrow," Baphomet chuckled, somewhat menacingly, lifting his previously concealed handheld crossbow. "He even taught me a thing or two about how to use this thing."

"I stopped multiple thugs from vandalizing the Liberty Bell," Virago said after. "And, as of two days ago, I've stopped nearly thirty-three muggings, fifteen would-be rapists, and because of my influence, drug traffickers won't even show their faces outside their front doors. Learning how to master hundreds of advanced martial arts techniques since grade school, and then using them to combat crime will do that."

"I've tangled with the likes of the insufferable Tin Tyrant!" Canterbury Cricket shouted, shaking his fist into the air, as he continued his eccentricities. "I've had the detestable pleasure of dealing with the dreaded ghost of Whitstable! I've roughhoused with the twenty dog-men of-"

"Oh for the love of God..." Jason sighed, interrupting the mutant and planting his masked face into his palm. Cricket stopped his ranting, and his proboscis drooped in slight embarrassment from the killjoy. Jason turned, and looked at the owl-themed vigilante behind him, whom he had just noticed was standing uncomfortably close to him.

"What's her story?" he asked. "She isn't able to speak, and I'd rather not have my time wasted letting her explain."

"Um... her partner, the _guy_ in the owl costume, told us not to ask, and wouldn't even give their names," Baphomet replied. "Another thing of importance you might want to know, is that, before he disappeared, he said she was going to keep a close eye on you, specifically. I'm guessing that meant she's going to follow you around. Have fun with that, I guess."

Red Hood glared at him, before turning his field of view back to the bird-themed vigilante.

"Don't even think of following me," he growled to her. She responded by simply folding her arms, in a show of either stubbornness, disagreement, or both. In reply, Red Hood only turned his head back to the other vigilantes, and spoke again.

"As for _all_ of you..." he began. "I expect you all to leave Gotham by the end of the week. Persist any further, and I'll _make_ you leave."

"We'll leave when we catch Onomatopoeia," Baphomet responded, adamantly. "I've been looking for him for two years without rest. Kill me if you want, break all the bones in my body if it makes you feel better, I'll only leave when either he, or I, are dead."

"It's my only warning," Jason spoke again. He spun around, and started for the door, after walking past the owl-person, who only stood there, watching him as he left.

"In case you may want to know, we are going to have another meeting, in two days, right back here, at two p.m.," Virago said, as she saw Red Hood enter the doorway. "If you change your mind, or tell those two other guys you work with about us, that's where we'll be."

"I don't work with them," he growled back, thinking of Robin and Nightwing, before disappearing behind the corner.


End file.
